


5 Times Quentin and Eliot Had to Have Uncomfortable but Necessary Conversations and 1 Time They Didn't Need to Talk at All.

by kaci3PO



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, M/M, Mosaic, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaci3PO/pseuds/kaci3PO
Summary: 5 Times Quentin and Eliot Had to Have Uncomfortable but Necessary Conversations and 1 Time They Didn't Need to Talk at All.or: 5 conversations set during the mosaic timeline +1 set post-S3.





	5 Times Quentin and Eliot Had to Have Uncomfortable but Necessary Conversations and 1 Time They Didn't Need to Talk at All.

**One**

Eliot doesn't expect anything after the first time they have sex in Fillory. He tries, in general, not to get his hopes up for anything when it comes to Quentin. It's a self-preservation thing, a way to keep himself from falling too hard for a man who, as far as Eliot knows, identifies as straight—latent bisexual tendencies be damned.

And really, can they be  _ called  _ bisexual tendencies if they only ever seem to apply to him? Eliot's never caught Quentin so much as  _ looking  _ at any other guy, and he's  _ definitely  _ been watching.

So the second time he finds himself pinning Quentin to the mattress of his shitty Fillorian bed, Eliot feels like he's walking on eggshells to not shatter the moment. He was half convinced the last time that Quentin would stop halfway through and that fear has only worsened now that it's time for round two.

But Quentin seems eager enough, and Eliot's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth if he's being given another chance at this, so he does a quick spell to levitate a jar of cooking oil out of their kitchen and into his outstretched hand. He figures he'll have to prepare himself; he wouldn't trust Quentin to do it since he probably never has before. But underneath him, Quentin spreads his legs automatically and lifts them up to settle around Eliot's hips as soon as he sees the jar in Eliot's hand. Eliot nearly drops it in surprise.

"Oh," he says, trying not to let it show on his face. "You don't have to do that. You bottomed last time."

Eliot has been with "straight" guys before, air quotes  _ very  _ much emphasized, and all of them insisted on topping, like giving was somehow less "gay" than receiving. And sure, Quentin had been the exception to that rule the last time they had sex, but Eliot had assumed he was just being polite. If anyone on this or any other planet would offer to bottom out of sheer manners, it's Quentin Coldwater.

"I know, I was there," Quentin says, looking equally confused.

"I thought you'd want to take turns or something," Eliot offers.

"Not unless you do," Quentin answers. He's blushing, which is adorable and endearing, but not conducive to talking about this so that they can actually have good sex they both enjoy.

"I'm versatile," Eliot replies, reaching out to tilt Quentin's chin up so he can look him in the eye. "So it doesn't matter to me. But if you have a preference..."

Quentin closes his eyes rather than hold Eliot's stare and mumbles, "I do. I like— I like it this way."

Eliot can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads across his face. Quentin's just so  _ bashful _ about it, and Eliot's always enjoyed being a corrupting influence. 

He sets the oil down on the table beside the bed and ducks down to kiss Quentin, grinding his cock against Quentin's hip to let him feel how hard Eliot is, how  _ hot  _ he thinks this is.

"Say it," he teases. "Say you want me to fuck your tight little ass."

"Jesus Christ, Eliot—" Quentin sighs exasperatedly and rolls his eyes.

Eliot laughs. "C'mon. It's not a big deal. I just didn't expect it, is all."

Quentin brushes his hair off his face and lets out a little  _ huff _ of annoyance. "You don't have to be so  _ smug _ about it, you know. It's just— I shouldn't even tell you, because your ego is already too big, but...you're just  _ really _ good at fucking me, okay?"

If Eliot weren't already hard, that would've done it. He groans and tugs at Quentin's earlobe with his teeth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Quentin answers. "Yes."

"Wish, command," Eliot replies, and grabs the oil off the table.

 

**Two**

It's raining in Fillory, which means they're stuck inside with nothing to do. Adapting to a life without TV, movies, music, or even a wide selection of books had been difficult, but never does Quentin miss those things more than on days when the weather makes it impossible for them to work on the mosaic and leaves them trapped indoors in their shitty, barren cottage. There's nothing to  _ do _ in Fillory.

Well, there is one thing, but Quentin's already blown Eliot twice and let Eliot rim him until he came just from Eliot's tongue and there's this thing they both need called a refractory period, so  _ now  _ there really  _ isn't _ anything to do.

"Okay, I'm done with this boredom shit," Eliot says, finally rousing from his spot on the bed where he's been sprawled out for the last half an hour after Quentin sucked him off the second time. "Truth or dare?"

Quentin gives him a Look. "Really?"

"It's something to do," Eliot insists. "Pick one."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "Fine. Truth, I guess."

"Hm…" Eliot taps his chin like he's thinking hard, but Quentin's pretty sure he'd already thought up at least six different 'truth' questions he wanted to ask before he even suggested the game. "Okay. If you  _ had  _ to have sex with one of the other questers, but it couldn't be someone you've already slept with, who would you pick?"

"That I haven't been with?" Quentin considers, ticking off the names as he goes, "So that leaves...Julia, Kady, Penny, and Josh… I guess Kady."

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "Really? Not Julia?"

Quentin shrugs. "There was a time when...yeah, but. Everything is different now. It'd just be weird."

"Huh," Eliot says consideringly. "Alright. Well, I'll start with truth, too."

There are a lot of things Quentin has always wanted to know about Eliot. He keeps his entire life before Brakebills under lock and key, so if he's being given a chance to ask, there are a lot of things he'd like to know. But he decides to start with something small and harmless to break the ice and get Eliot talking. 

"How'd you lose your virginity?"

Eliot laughs. " _ That's _ your opening salvo? Oh, Q. We really have to work on your truth or dare skills."

Quentin rolls his eyes again. "Jesus. This is what I get for trying to ease you into it. You don't exactly talk about your past much—"

"Okay, okay," Eliot holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Thank you for going easy on me." There's a hint of patronization in his voice, but he looks sincere enough that Quentin decides to let it go.

"It's not a very interesting story," he says apologetically. "Freshman year of undergrad, a guy named Justin from my English 101 class, at a party. It lasted all of four minutes." 

"Was it at least good?" Quentin asks. He'd definitely been expecting something more...well,  _ grand _ .

"Of course not!" Eliot laughs. "Jesus, Quentin, neither of us knew what we were doing and our only reference was terrible internet porn. It was awkward and gross and nearly bad enough to convince me that maybe I didn't like sex at all. Now, my  _ second _ time, that was much more interesting."

"Yeah?" Quentin prods.

"Ah ah ah," Eliot says, voice light and teasing. "That would be an entirely different question. Truth or dare, Quentin Coldwater?"

Quentin huffs. He pretty much assumes any dares are going to involve sex (because, well,  _ Eliot _ ), and normally he'd be fine with that but his jaw is still a little sore from blowing Eliot twice in one day. So instead he opts to say, "Truth again."

Eliot gives him a Look that Quentin is pretty sure means Eliot knows exactly why he didn't pick 'dare,' but after a moment he shakes his head and says, "Fine, same question."

Quentin shrugs. "Also not that interesting. Junior year of high school, this boy in my AP trig class. He— fuck, you know what? I can't actually remember his name. Does that make me a bad person?" He laughs awkwardly.

"Wait," Eliot says, holding up one hand. " _ He? _ "

Quentin blinks at him in confusion. He's still naked from earlier. "Eliot," he says slowly, "in case you haven't noticed, I sometimes have sex with men." He gestures towards Eliot's exposed dick. "Occasionally twice in one day."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Okay, present company excluded, you've never shown any interest—"

"Because I had a girlfriend pretty much since you met me," Quentin points out. "What, did you think you were the only guy I've ever been with?"

"If you say 'don't flatter yourself'—"

"No," Quentin assures him. "Just...you're  _ not  _ the only guy. I mean, it's not an even fifty-fifty split or anything, but…"

"Oh." Eliot's expression is entirely unreadable, and Quentin wishes he had the gift of telepathy, just for a moment, so he could understand why Eliot's making such a big deal of it.

"Uh, since I guess I have to say it, for the record, I'm bi," Quentin says. "Truth or dare, I guess?"

Eliot shakes himself out of it and puts on a smile that Quentin can tell at a glance is forced. "Dare."

 

**Three**

"So are we going to talk about the elephant in the room," Eliot asks, "or are we opting to ignore it?"

Quentin looks up from his dinner with an expression usually associated with being caught with one's hand in a cookie jar.

"Elephant?" His voice  _ drips _ with forced casualness.

Eliot reaches across the table and takes his hand.  "The elephant," he confirms. "Arielle."

Quentin stiffens, definitely caught now. "What about her?"

"Oh, I don't know," Eliot says sarcastically. He pulls his hand back and Quentin frowns at the loss. "The fact that you're  _ dying  _ to court her."

Quentin scoots his chair back from the table and leans back in it, putting distance between them. "I don't—"

"You do," Eliot says gently. "And she's single now, so…"

"I'm with  _ you _ ," Quentin points out. "Are you tired of me or something? Trying to pawn me off on the natives?"

Eliot snorts. "I could never get tired of you, Q. I'm not trying to get rid of you, I'm trying to make you happy."

" _ You _ make me happy."

Something in Eliot's chest hitches at what Quentin is implying, but he doesn't let himself dwell on it. They can deal with that issue later.

"Quentin," he says gently. "I don't know if you're aware, but I'm cool with non-monogamy. I am, after all, both married and engaged back in the present." He frowns at the phrase "back in the present" as soon as it's left his mouth, but Quentin knows what he means.

"Actually," Quentin points out, "you're cool with  _ yourself _ being with multiple people. Fen and Idri would each only be married to  _ you _ ."

Eliot frowns. "Okay, fair point, but this is me telling you that I'm okay with this if you want to pursue Arielle. She  _ clearly _ likes you, and I'm not the jealous type." He pauses, considering his words. "Well...I  _ might  _ be, with some people. It would depend on the person. But I'm not jealous when it comes to her. She seems nice, and I think she'd be good for you."

Quentin scrubs a hand over his face. "Eliot, I don't—" He shifts awkwardly and crosses his arms over his chest, closing himself off. "Fine, I like her, but I'm not going to do anything about it. In case  _ you've _ forgotten, the last time I did anything non-monogamous was that night with you and Margo. And then Alice  _ died _ , probably hating me, and I don't blame her. Just because  _ you're _ cool with polyamory doesn't mean everyone is. Do you even know why Arielle and Lunk broke up? Because she caught him 'holding someone else's peaches.' She's not going to be cool with us, and I'm not ending things with you in order to pursue her, so there's no point."

"Polyamory and cheating aren't the same thing, Quentin," Eliot insists. "Maybe she was hurt that he went behind her back, not necessarily that he was with someone else. If you told her up front, 'hey, me and El are a package deal,' she might be happy to take you up on the offer."

"So what, we'd just be like...a threesome?"

Eliot shrugs. "If that's what you wanted. The three of us would have to talk it out, decide on boundaries. I'm willing to do that, if she'll have us, and it's what you want."

Quentin goes quiet for a moment. "I just...what if you changed your mind?"

"What?"

"What if I courted her, and you woke up one day and realized, 'oh, actually, I  _ am  _ jealous,' and I lost you like I lost Alice the last time I did something like this?"

Eliot gets up and moves to stand behind Quentin's chair, wrapping him up in a hug from behind. "Quentin, you're not going to lose me. Couldn't even if you wanted to. We're stuck with this mosaic until we solve it."

"That's not what I—"

"I'm not finished," Eliot interrupts. "Listen to me, Q. This is not the same thing as what happened with Alice. What we did back then...it was wrong. Yes, we were drunk and emotionally messed up, but it was wrong. It was cheating. I don't know how Alice would've felt about it if we'd offered to include her that night—"

"She would've said no. Her parents were polyamorous and she didn't approve—"

"Okay," Eliot says gently. "But my point is, the  _ worst _ thing we did that night was not involve her. We didn't ask permission, we didn't tell her it was happening, we just did it behind her back.  _ That's _ the biggest reason it was wrong. You and me, and you and Arielle, this isn't that, Quentin. I'm right here, I'm  _ encouraging _ you, and if she says yes, then it'll be the same for her. I won't force you into it if you don't want this, but I will  _ not _ be the thing that stands in your way of being happy."

Quentin tilts his head back, looks up at Eliot, upside down and smiling, and pulls him down into a kiss. He's honest-to-god  _ giggling _ when they pull apart, and admits, "I always wanted to reenact the upside-down  _ Spiderman _ kiss."

"I feel  _ used _ ," Eliot teases, but allows himself to be tugged down to do it again.

 

**Four**

"So," Arielle says slowly, "you're from the future?"

"Fillory's future, yes," Quentin corrects. It's probably not an important distinction in the long run, but he wants to be sure she understands he's not just talking about the usual timeline weirdness that results from time passing at a different speed in Fillory than it does on Earth.

He'd decided beforehand that he wouldn't do this without telling Arielle everything about who they were and how they ended up here, despite Eliot's protests that they'd sound crazy. Quentin had actually  _ agreed  _ with him about that part, but if this is going to be different than the disastrous threesome that ended his relationship with Alice, it's important to him that Arielle either enter into it with her eyes fully open, or not enter into it at all.

She'd handled the Children of Earth stuff easily; Fillorians were well-versed in the existence of Earth and the fact that a lucky few Earthlings could cross over, despite the fact that most of them knew absolutely nothing about what Earth was actually like. It was just the future stuff that seemed to be getting to her.

"Hm," Arielle says, considering. "I know time works differently there, but I confess I wasn't aware that time travel was so easy."

Quentin almost says,  _ "But surely Fillorians know about the Watcherwoman?" _ before he remembers that the Chatwins have not yet arrived in Fillory.

"It's not," Eliot answers. "We didn't  _ intend _ to do it. It was the mosaic. It pulled us back here."

"Technically it was the key," Quentin says. "Not the mosaic."

"The key," Arielle repeats slowly. "Okay. Right, because you're on a quest."

"Right," Eliot confirms. "And we're on the quest, because in the future, we're the Kings of Fillory." After a moment, he adds, not-so-modestly, "I'm  _ High _ King,  _ obviously _ ."

Quentin rolls his eyes, because Eliot wouldn't know actual modesty if it tap-danced naked on his face, but he'd probably be the same if he'd been the one to pass the blood test.

"Oh," Arielle says thoughtfully. "Is that what this dinner is about?"

All of them have barely touched said dinner, too caught up in the conversation to actually eat.

"Depends," Eliot hedges. "What do you  _ think  _ it's about?"

"It's customary for a king of Fillory to take both a husband and a wife," she explains. "Had no one from your time told you that yet?" She shrugs. "I know the two of you are married, so—"

"We're not married," Eliot corrects her. 

"We could be," Quentin says, considering. "At this point in the Fillorian timeline, your future spouse and fiance haven't even been born yet. You'd probably be able to enter into marriage contracts, if you wanted."

Eliot goes quiet, thinking.

"Well," Arielle says tentatively, "I would not wish to marry someone — or two someones, as the case may be — without getting to know them first. I know  _ some  _ marriages begin without a courting process, but," she draws herself up, proud and dignified, "I'm a  _ modern  _ woman. I'd like to first be sure the men I marry are honorable and just."

"Of course," Quentin assures her. "We call it 'dating' on Earth. We would want to get to know you first, too." He hesitates, then asks, "Since we're from a different time and place, maybe you could enlighten us on the Fillorian custom? Do we need to, uhm, get permission from your father to court you?"

"You would," she says, "but my father passed away many years ago, when I was but a baby. My mother is also no longer with us, so it's just me. However, Quentin Coldwater, Eliot Waugh — future Kings of Fillory —  _ I _ grant you permission to court me."

"I like her, Q," Eliot says. "Let's try to keep her."

 

**Five**

"Poppa?"

Eliot's struck, as he always is, by how  _ fragile _ Teddy's voice sounds. He's never really been around children that much, at least not since he was one. He didn't even get to see his daughter when she was this young. He sometimes forgets how small they are, how much they need protection.

"What's wrong, Teddy bear?" he asks. Quentin is working on the mosaic so he'd been the one to put Teddy down for his nap. No matter how much Quentin and Arielle assured him that he was as much a parent to Teddy as they were, and despite how much Teddy seems to feel the same, some part of Eliot always feels like a fraud. It has nothing to do with the fact that Teddy isn't biologically his; it's because he has no clue what he's doing half the time, no idea how to actually raise a child without breaking their brains, like his father had broken his.

"Aren't you going to tell me a story?"

Eliot pulls a chair up beside Teddy's bed and sits down. Not for the first time, he wishes for the convenience of being able to pull up a whole list of bedtime stories on his phone. He's no good at making them up; Quentin has years of voraciously reading every fantasy novel he could get his hands on to draw from, and Arielle had had the benefit of having grown up in a magical land full of its own lore. Eliot has neither of those things. Hell, his own parents never told him bedtime stories, either, so he doesn't even have that to draw from. He hates constantly feeling like he doesn't deserve to be Teddy's parent, too.

"What kind of story?" he hedges.

"Something exciting!" Teddy enthuses. "With dragons and a prince or princess that needs rescuing!"

"Okay," Eliot says slowly. He knows bits and pieces of popular fantasy stories that he's picked up from pop culture, just little tidbits like knowing what a White Walker is, or that Harry Potter went to a school for wizards, but nothing about the actual plots of any of them. He regrets, now, that he never bothered to read any of the books Margo leant him back at Brakebills; maybe if he had, he would have a half-decent frame of reference for bedtime stories.

"Well," he says, hesitantly, "once upon a time, there was a prince." He's pretty sure that's how most of these kinds of stories start, anyway.

"What kind of prince was he?"

"A dashing one," Eliot answers, but his voice rises on the end until it sounds like a question. "Very handsome."

Teddy snuggles down deeper into the blankets and looks at him so expectantly that Eliot actually  _ feels  _ part of his heart break. He wants  _ so badly _ to be a good dad and he hates that he feels like such a failure at what should be a basic, simple fatherly task.

It's not like Teddy is expecting something Pulitzer-prize worthy, and even if he did, he's always fallen asleep pretty quickly once he's in bed so it's not even like Eliot needs to plot out some epic adventure; he'll probably be asleep in about five minutes. But there's this block, this  _ thing  _ in Eliot's head that tells him he's not a going to be a good father and makes even  _ trying  _ any parental task feel impossible.

"He…" Eliot stops. Aren't writers always being told to write what they know? Maybe that would help. "He was popular," Eliot continues. "He had many admirers, but he'd never been in love. Then one day, the prince was sent to a greet a visiting prince from another kingdom. He didn't like the visitor at first. The visitor was awkward and, frankly, kind of a dork."

Teddy giggles. "Are you talking about Daddy?"

Eliot covers his heart with his hand, playing up his non-existent offense. "I'm sure your dad will be so flattered that you assumed the 'dork' was him."

"But it is him, isn't it?" Teddy says, grinning wide.

"Let's just call it a happy coincidence," Eliot offers.

Teddy snickers.

"So the prince didn't like the visitor at first," Eliot resumes, "though he did think he was cute. But the visitor grew on him, and before long the prince realized he'd fallen in love."

"When do the dragons show up?" Teddy asks petulantly.

"I actually wasn't with your Dad when he met a dragon—" Eliot starts.

"Dragons aren't very interesting, if you want the truth," Quentin cuts in. Eliot turns around to find him standing in the doorway, looking at the two of them fondly. "They're kind of rude."

Teddy sighs and rolls his eyes. "Well, what about a unicorn? Or a gryffin?"

Quentin settles himself down on Eliot's lap, reaching over to brush Teddy's hair back off his face. "Okay, let's see—"

He weaves a tale of magic and mystery for their son, half-pop culture that Eliot recognizes and half stuff that he suspects is of Quentin's own invention. He loves watching Quentin in his element, almost as much as he hates feeling like he needs help parenting their son. Everything got so much harder when Arielle passed. Not just because of the grief, although that had felt impossible to survive at the time. Having her there meant that Eliot could take a backseat role in parenting Teddy, leaving the heavier lifting stuff to Arielle and Quentin. With her gone, he's been upgraded to a starring role in a show he never felt fully comfortable performing in in the first place.

The two of them head back out to the mosaic after Teddy falls asleep, and Quentin wastes no time in getting back to work. Eliot watches him for awhile, silent, before he finally sighs and says, "Thanks for coming to my rescue."

Quentin glances at him over his shoulder, his eyebrow raised. "Rescue?"

Eliot shrugs. "I'm not very good at that stuff." He tries to say it evenly, to not let on how much it bothers him that he can't even do this simple thing for their son. It's not like he has no sense of imagination; he just... _ freezes _ when it comes to this.

Quentin gives him a confused look and shrugs. "It's not a big deal."

Eliot doesn't answer, instead picking up a tile and turning it over in his hands. It gives him something else to fixate on, something to distract him and keep him occupied. Sometimes it's easier for him to talk if he's got something else to do while he does it.

"It is to me," he says finally. "How do you—you're so good with him."

Quentin turns to face him but Eliot stares resolutely down at the tile instead of meeting his eyes.

"I don't know," Quentin says thoughtfully. "Part of it is things I remember my dad doing, but part of it is just...stuff I  _ wish  _ my dad had done. Like—" He clears his throat and looks down at the mosaic, and Eliot recognizes his own coping strategy at play. "Like after Arielle passed," Quentin continues, "I tried to be open with him and make sure he could talk about how he felt, because my dad and I never talked about mental health stuff."

"So...how you  _ wish _ your dad had been."

Quentin nods, still staring down at the mosaic. If Eliot were watching the two of them, rather than being part of this little tableau, he'd roll his eyes and yell at them for being so completely shit at having actually serious conversations. Quentin, at least, is usually decent at it, but Arielle is still a touchy subject that they avoid altogether if they can.

After the silence drags on too long, Eliot finally clears his throat and asks, "How much do you remember about the Harry Potter series?"

Quentin finally looks up and meets his eyes. "Uhm...a lot, probably? I mean, those books were no Fillory and Further, but I've read them a few times. Why?"

"I want you to tell me the plot while we're working on the mosaic. And when we're done with that, I want everything you remember about The Hobbit."

He may not have access to actual books, but he has Quentin's nerdy brain and that's practically the next best thing. He's going to memorize every last detail about these stories.

For Teddy.

 

**\+ One**

Quentin is on his knees, hands on Eliot's shoulders as he shakes him roughly. He's crying, he knows, he can feel them running down his face, and under other circumstances he might be embarrassed for all the other questers to see him like this but right now he doesn't care. The spell Julia found to destroy the monster was intense, requiring all seven of them casting in harmony, but it was supposed to not hurt Eliot. Julia had promised him Eliot would be okay.

Well, no, she had said, "It won't hurt him, if he's still in there," but Quentin hadn't let himself think that Eliot might already be gone. He couldn't be. Quentin had buried him once, in Fillory, a lifetime of blood and sweat and tears and most of all love, and he can't do it again. He can't.

"Eliot, please," he gasps. "Please, El, just—"

Eliot's back arches and he takes a long, shuddering breath before his eyes finally open, looking deep into Quentin's and he knows, instantly, that it's Eliot. The monster is gone and Eliot is in there and nothing else in the entire world matters at this moment.

"El," he breathes, hurrying to wipe the tears off his cheeks, suddenly embarrassed by their presence. "Jesus Christ, you scared me—"

Eliot surges up against him, cupping one hand around the nape of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. Quentin had planned on getting him some water or at least letting him rest before they got to this part, but that doesn't stop him from returning the kiss, holding him close enough to feel his heartbeat responding to Quentin's own.

"What the fuck," Penny says, with feeling. "If you were playing dead just to make your reunion kiss more dramatic, I swear to God—"

Out of the corner of his eye, Quentin sees Eliot flip Penny the bird with his free hand before using it to haul Quentin even closer, until there is no space between them at all.

"We should probably give them the room," Julia says faintly. She herds everyone else out of the room, pausing at the doorway long enough to call, "Happy for you, Q. Be safe!"

Quentin laughs into the kiss and Eliot grins, pulling back just enough to ask, "Do we need to talk about this?"

Quentin kisses him again, trying to pour everything he's thinking and feeling into it. Admittedly, it's a lot.

"Okay, then," Eliot murmurs. "Me, too."

And when he kisses Quentin back, his reply is loud and clear.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was like pulling teeth so please be gentle with me.


End file.
